


down, down the rabbit hole

by spherically



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closure, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Rain, Reunion, Sort Of, Sylvix Week 2019, i had to use the tag, i really did make this at 4am huh. i hate this fic, no beta we die like Glenn, theyre both emotional thats it thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spherically/pseuds/spherically
Summary: "Do you think," Sylvain says, heart in his throat, his voice slow, "that I didn't want to see you?" His arms have lowered now, and he doesn't make a single move towards Felix.Felix's eyes are stormy, gray with unsaid words and clear distrust. There is still a sword between them, placed right under Sylvain's chin. The stare between them is defiant. The distance aches, hurts. He wants to drop the sword and sob into Sylvain's shoulder."It doesn't matter," he says again, the familiar glare boring into Sylvain's crestfallen eyes. "I wouldn't care either way."— sylvain comes back to garreg mach on a rainy night after two long months.day 4 - rain





	down, down the rabbit hole

**Author's Note:**

> I DONT KNOW WHAT THIS IS I WROTE THIS IN TWO NIGHTS AND IT IS NOT BETA'D I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

He was supposed to wait for everyone else from Gautier territory to wake up. Sylvain has never been patient, and he'd already been lying awake in his tent for over four hours thinking about their reactions. 

Ingrid would be fussing, obviously, she never stops that. Annette and Ashe, he assumes, will legitimately be interested in his well-being, them with their kind souls and bright smiles. Mercedes and Dimitri will ask after the territory, keep him up to date with whats happened. He's not sure exactly what sort of reaction Dedue would have for him, but he has been getting better at showing empathy, which is a start. Dorothea, kind, terribly sassy soul that she is, will do nothing but bully him. He thinks Claude, with his tactical brilliance, will immediately want to play a game of chess. His thoughts drift to each and every one of his classmates, fingers tingling as he thinks about it. 

Ah, he realizes, how would Felix act? 

"Ah," he mumbles into the cold air. "Shit." Arguments with Felix fester the longer they stayed in the air. It was easier for him, and for Felix, to recover and apologize or forgive.  _ Two months _ would have caused their fight to grow and fester and rot. Felix would still be mad. 

There is a sinking feeling in Sylvain's chest at this realization; he cannot quite pinpoint it. Regret? Disappointment? He should've been the one to close the barrier, should've gotten over his hurt and sent over a letter begging for forgiveness. He'd been pissed off for a whole four weeks in Gautier territory, and his father had snapped at him to get over his moody tendencies before Sylvain had properly helped out with taking care of the frequent attackers and bandits coming over to the territory. Maybe he'd expected Felix to be the one to send a letter. He should've known better, should know better than to assume that sort of thing. The argument was well-deserved. 

He does not remember exactly how it went. Felix, training, late at night. Sylvain, stumbling into the training grounds with a tired expression and weak legs. The girl he'd been with had done too much. He didn't know people could like that sort of thing, the degrading and words spat out of what, then, seemed like pure hatred. (The words had found their way into somewhere deep down inside of him, reminded him of every cruel word Miklan had hissed at him as a child.) He'd nearly vomited and ran out. Maybe some people liked the idea of being insulted, but all it had given him was a deep sense of dread. His shirt was still half open, his pants carelessly tossed on, and his stomach was churning when he walked out into the open and was met with a harsh glare. 

"Are you  _ serious _ ?" The incredulous and angry tone coming from Felix was making Sylvain tense. It was all too much. Sylvain's lip was trembling and his temper was flaring. Couldn't he be alone for once, not without someone telling him that he wasn't anything but a piece of shit? 

He didn't know he said it out-loud until Felix was gaping at him, and then his face  _ hardened _ , eyes narrowing and shoulders rising in that way Felix does when he's just a little hurt. 

The words they'd spat were unkind, born from a pure despair coming from Sylvain and annoyance on Felix's part. He'd called Felix alone, told him that if he was going to act like this all the time, he'd be alone for the rest of his life. He yelled out that he was heartless, that no wonder why half the school thought he was mad, training at midnight just to prove that he was better than a dead man. (He didn't mean that. He promised he didn't mean that. He lay awake for nights, thinking about the things he said and the way he'd hurt Felix.) 

Felix had shoved at Sylvain's chest and yelled out insults with red eyes; he was a liar, a cheapskate, a skirt chaser, and  _ must he always need to hide behind that pathetic mask?  _

He'd stumbled out of the training grounds after something Felix had said, or he had said— he didn't know. He just ran, ran until he reached his room. The girl was gone, and so were several of his things. 

Sylvain is into his clothes and out of his tent in seconds. His tunic flutters in the wind as he grabs a coat. The air is frigid, freezing as he clambers onto a horse. His eyes are blurry, too blurry, and all he can think is that  _ he needs to apologize, right now, he needs to apologize or he'll never forgive himself.  _

Someone wakes up and screams after him, but he's already far too gone. 

He's at the doors in an hour, and the rain is pouring. It's still pitch-black, no stars to be seen as a weary guard pulls open the gate. Eyes widen as Sylvain tugs himself off the horse and rushes in, eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. He races through the monastery, the cold air whipping his face and skin in a desperate search to find Felix. 

(He realizes, later, why exactly the gatekeeper's eyes had widened; Sylvain's eyes had been wide and nearly bloodshot, and he wasn't grinning in his usual manner. He was alert and seemingly teary, so unlike the usual persona Sylvain puts on that the man was taken aback. Sylvain is surprised when he hears it, just how good he has gotten at taking care of his persona to reach that level.) 

No one is awake in the dormitories, and he hears soft snores everywhere. He still races through the hallway, hears murmurs of annoyance until he reaches Felix's door. 

Then, he pauses. No sound in the door. No one’s in there. He curses sharply and someone hears. A head peeks out and Sylvain nearly slams against the wall in an effort to avoid being seen. He can't, cannot, let them see just how bad he looks, can't let them see how damaged and teary his eyes are. As soon as they close the door, Sylvain rushes out of the dormitory again, shoes hitting the wood as he goes. Rain slams against the windows relentlessly, but he rushes out into the open, soaking wet, anyways. 

The only sounds come from the training ground. At this point. he isn't surprised. The sound of soft grunting and sword hitting wood is prevalent wherever Felix is. He pushes open the door quietly, and pauses to stop when he sees him. 

Felix is a whirlwind of movement. His sword clangs against the training dummy and his eyes search for every weak spot. He doesn't know just how long Felix has been practicing, but strands of his friend's hair have fallen from their bun, which is already threatening to fall apart every time he hits the dummy. The rain is bearing down on Felix particularly hard; he's soaked, from head to toe, and he doesn't seem to realize just how badly the rain is getting. Sylvain slips in further through the crack he's made to get in, until he can take a step forward and go into the vicinity. He watches carefully, arms by his side. Sylvain is there when Felix's hair collapses onto and over his shoulders and back. 

He's always loved Felix's hair, ever since he started growing it out. Of course, he'd never ever have been able to touch it, but it was nice to look at it and compliment its neat bun from time to time. He's never seen it down. Only now, when Felix suddenly stops and freezes does he really see it. Sylvain steps forward, just a bit more, and that truly is his biggest mistake. 

Felix whirls around and there is a sword at his chin and his hands are in the air, and he can't  _ help _ but grin carelessly the way he usually does. Two heartbeats pass and Felix does not move the weapon, though his eyes widen and a glint shimmers faintly in two brown eyes. Sylvain doesn't back down, eyes locked onto Felix's long after his grin has disappeared. 

"Fuck off," he tells Sylvain, quite plainly, takes a step back to put more distance between them and extend his sword. Sylvain's smile has disappeared by now, but he looks all over Felix and the way his shoulders tense in anger, everything about the way his best friend's eyes look red. 

He doesn't know how to apologize. "Why in fighting stance?" He asks. "Do you want to spar?" There is a smile frozen on his face and a lilt to his tone that only makes him seem joyful. Felix can see right through it, with the way he tends to pierce into Sylvain's soul. He's probably noticed the tense set of Sylvain's whole body, the unfocused, blurry eyes. He likes to think he isn't obvious, except to Felix. Never to Felix. (And— he trusts Felix enough. He knows that he can't hide from Felix. It's a change of pace to have someone see through him.) 

Felix still doesn't lower his sword. Sylvain is willing to wait as long as it takes, here in the rain with their clothes soaked and their gazes locked. Felix's eyes blink and change and focus, but they never leave Sylvain's. The rain beats down harder, the silence gets thicker. 

Felix's arm slumps a little, and Sylvain lets out a shaky breath, one he's not sure Felix can hear. "I would've thought you'd go to your dormitory," he says bitterly, looking to the side now. The look on his face is so helpless that Sylvain can't help but want to hug him, but with the sword in the way all he can do is let his shoulders drop a little. He can't do that, not yet. He has to let something go first. 

"Do you think," Sylvain says, heart in his throat, his voice slow, "that I didn't want to see you?" His arms have lowered now, and he doesn't make a single move towards Felix. 

Felix's eyes are stormy, gray with unsaid words and clear distrust. There is still a sword between them, placed right under Sylvain's chin. The stare between them is defiant. The distance aches, hurts. He wants to drop the sword and sob into Sylvain's shoulder. 

"It doesn't matter," he says again, the familiar glare boring into Sylvain's crestfallen eyes. "I wouldn't care either way." 

Sylvain isn't happy when Felix lowers the wooden sword sharply and tosses it to the side. He's moving in an instant, hands reaching out faintly. 

"Don't say that," he says out loud as Felix turns around, his back to him. " _ Please _ , don't say that." he repeats as he takes a hurried step forward to catch up to Felix in the rain. His voice is high-pitched, on the verge of cracking. He doesn't know what he's trying to accomplish, whether this will change anything. He knows two things— the hurt in Felix's eyes, and the back that he's stupidly trying to reach out to. Don't be mad at me, he thinks rapidly as he scrambles for just a piece of Felix's tunic, stumbles over his sword as they cross the training grounds, past the pillars and walls they've built up. 

"Fe, you didn't mean that, you wouldn't mean that," His words are a stream of half-conscious babbles that he calls out into the void that Felix has left him with. It's Felix, this is Felix, he can't mean that he just doesn't care, not when Sylvain cares so much that he's going to burst— 

He takes ahold of his sleeve, tightens his hands around it and pulls Felix to a stop. "Fe," Again and again until Felix listens. "I'm sorry, I'm really, I'm really sorry, okay? Don't say that sort of thing. I'm sorry about what I said. I know I hurt you, I'm sorry—" 

" _ Stop _ apologizing, you insatiable fool," and suddenly, Sylvain has his head tucked into Felix's shoulder, suddenly he's actively sobbing onto Felix's already wet clothes. All the stress from the past two months has come back, the expectations and the weight of the Lance of Ruin in his hand have all crowded in and festered far, far worse than their argument. 

There is a distant part of Sylvain's mind that wants to pull away, knowing that Felix probably isn't comfortable like this, but he doesn't want to move, lets Felix's arms wrap around his waist and lets Felix's head bury itself into Sylvain's shoulder and let out soft sniffles. The rain is pouring, harder than ever, but right now, it is just the two of them sobbing and apologizing repeatedly in the abandoned training grounds. 

"I'm sorry," Felix mumbles into Sylvain's skin, "I shouldn't have said those things either. You're okay. I'm sorry." 

Sylvain decides on something. Something so disastrous, so inexplicably full of consequences, and yet so desperately needed. He pulls away suddenly, softly, and Felix's eyes widen in panic before Sylvain reaches out blindly and finds Felix's face. And then his lips are on his, and then it's nothing but Felix. The rain isn't there anymore, not the ground beneath his feet or his clothes sticking to his skin. Nothing but Felix and how Sylvain has wanted this for years, years, how did he never realise? And, and, thank god, he's kissing back, he's wrapped his arms around Sylvain's neck and everything is okay again. 

It feels like a lifetime before Felix breaks apart with a gasp. The rain slows for two seconds, two heartbeats pass. And then Felix is shoving his face into Sylvain's chest, whole sobs wracking through his frame as he clutches at the clothing. 

"Fuck,  _ fuck _ ." Sylvain doesn't understand why Felix sounds so distraught— freezes where he stands. Did Felix not want it? Was it not consent? The panic in his mind grows and grows until Felix finally speaks. 

"You have—" a laugh breaks out from Felix's hoarse voice, " _ no idea _ how long I've been waiting for that," Sylvain's eyes widen as Felix's hands slip to his own. 

"Ah," he says dumbly, because he can't think of anything but of that small, little confession. 

The rain still falls, harder than ever, but now Felix has lifted his head and kissed him again and Sylvain thinks that is all he will ever need.

**Author's Note:**

> i really want to participate in akeshu week in the persona fandom so i don't know if this will be the only thing i'll post for sylvix week! i really hope it isn't but that's that!
> 
> (and— if i have to be honest, this was written from a really honest place somewhere inside me. sylvain's one of my favorite characters in this cursed game and maybe i self-projected a little, but i hope it was enjoyable!)


End file.
